Monday, May 24, 2010

Wanderlust

The South is famous for its sedate pace. Its inhabitants never seem to be in as much a hurry as the rest of the world. Even in the larger cities their bustling has an air of nonchalance. Their attitude often clearly says, “Yes I’m late. No, I don’t care.”

But ever since I was a little girl I dreamed of leaving this quiet place and moving to a big city – somewhere like New York or even abroad to London or Paris. I loved everything about being on the move and much of that was contributed to my ADD. As a child I was given Ritalin, but if they’d paid attention they would have realized that the same effect could be achieved without medicine - I could drool on myself just listening to them drone on and on about their dull workdays and interests. “She just cannot sit still”, they would say in the parent/teacher conferences. Silly, narrow minded adults. I would sit still for hours with a book in my hand or a travel documentary on the television. I didn’t need the zombie side effects of Ritalin, I needed stimulation. To my knowledge, there’s no drug for selective ADD.

I never minded long road trips. I was comfortable curling up in the backseat with a pillow, my portable CD player, and a book or two. I’d watch the landscape whiz by with complete contentment, happy just knowing we were getting further and further away from that dull place called home. Hotel rooms, no matter how rudimentary, held a certain charm. I was sleeping in a foreign bed, living out of a suitcase, and eating “continental” breakfasts. How exciting!

The first time I set foot in an airport I was fifteen. I was going to Spain for two weeks with a tour group and for a small town, middle class girl it was the traveling lottery. My birthday would come and go while we were away, so my father hired a limo to drive me and my friends from our house to the airport in Charlotte, two hours away, as an early present. It was a very strange gift, but at the time I thought it was wonderful.

The trip was a scant three months before 9/11 and getting through the airport was a breeze. Checking bags was free, carry on rules were pretty lax, and security was friendly. Completely different from flying today.

I spent the entire flight to Barcelona fighting to stay awake, to take every single bit of it in: the in flight movie, the peanuts I hated but was determined to eat none-the-less, the tiny bathroom I insisted on inspecting, storing my luggage in the overhead compartment, the noises the plane made. I loved it all, but perhaps the part I loved most was getting off: Gathering my things together and striding purposefully up the gangway, collecting my luggage from the carousel, standing in front of the terminal and looking out at the people and the cars...knowing that I was actually standing on the other side of the world.

And wouldn’t you know it – the first hotel we stayed at was breathtaking. It was small and quaint – crammed together with a bunch of other buildings. The outside walls were old and peeling and the street out front was steep and narrow, but when we ventured inside everything was immaculate, shiny, and new. Our room had a set of tall double windows that opened up to a small wrought iron balcony, vines weaving their way through its bars. I remember leaning on that railing, looking out over the crowded city and having the sudden urge to cry.

We went on a whirlwind tour across the country. If I hadn’t taken picture after picture to prove it, sometimes I feel as if I’d never been there at all. Barcelona, Valencia, Granada, Toledo, Seville, Costa del Sol, Madrid - I’d have to locate my old itinerary to do our schedule justice. It’s funny, the things and places I remember most aren’t the guided tours and planned outings (though the tour of The Alhambra was brilliant) – they’re the free nights and afternoons when we were allowed to explore. Dancing in a discotheque, strolling along the Ramblas, eating lunch in a crowded plaza, drinking daiquiris at a beach hut, buying a sword at the factory in Toledo, my first encounter with a taxi AND a subway (both of which left me just a tad scarred).

We took the ferry and did a day trip into Morocco which was a bit terrifying. It might have been the men with guns, the snake charmers in the crowded streets, or the camels. Take your pick. Our tour guide claimed his name was Michael Douglas. “Just like the actor!” I had a strange, and overwhelming, urge to punch him in the face.

The market places were interesting, but there were children everywhere, reaching out for you and demanding your attention, trying to sell tiny drums and fans. I suppose my favorite part was lunch. We ate in the strangest looking restaurant – very ornate floors and iron grills, men balancing trays of candles on their heads. Everything looked sort of faded and surreal. We ate couscous from giant platters in the middle of the table and drank Coca Cola from small glass bottles.

It was the trip of a lifetime. And when I returned home looked even less appealing to me than usual. I became even more obsessed with travel than I’d been before. Unfortunately I’ve yet to leave the country again. Oh, I’ve been to various places in the US and enjoyed it very much, but everything gets stacked against Spain and falls flat.

This past weekend I realized why that was. (You know, aside from the fact that it’s another country and that’s exciting and romantic.)

Sunday morning I slept late. The kid finally wandered in to wake me up, struggled up onto the high bed, nestled against me and giggled when I tickled her sides. We drank coffee and ate breakfast together in the living room while cartoons played in the background.

After dishes were washed and put away my sister and I agreed to take her swimming. As always, with that promise, a brief flurry of activity commenced. Towels were gathered from the hall closet, bathing suits put on, sunscreen applied, ice cold drinks made, and all other necessary items were stored in beach bags.

We spent several hours lounging on the dock and on floats, swimming in lazy circles, and drenching each other with cannon balls off the high dive platform. It was the epitome of relaxation. (With the exception of Larry the goose attempting to drown Air Hose in the shallow end. The poor fat kid squalled like a wounded cat until we rescued her. For some reason Larry has recently gotten in the habit of sharing our floats and was under the impression that Air Hose would allow him to perch on top of her life jacket/head. Not so, unfortunately. )

It was later, on a long leisurely boat ride, that I started thinking about Spain. Stretched out on a seat, towel arranged under me, I lay on my stomach and watched the waves. I listened to the engine, the splashing, the radio pumping out country music. The sun beat down on my exposed skin and my hair whipped out behind me.

I realized that one of the reasons I felt so at home in that beautiful country overseas was the attitude, the feeling of the people. They’re unrushed; they take siestas in the afternoon. “Yes, I’m late. No, I don’t care.”

The language might be different, the architecture might be older and more ornate, the food more interesting, the music exotic – but the feeling of contentment and happiness I had on that boat was the same as the one I had wandering the beautiful gardens of a Spanish palace.

I’m lucky. I haven’t lost my wanderlust, but if I never get to travel again, at least I’m finally aware of the beauty in my surroundings.

There’s something to be said for my little corner of the world.

23 comments:

Eric said...

The more I travel, the more I want to travel.
I'm thinking Northern Europe or Serbia next...

Beta Dad said...

Nice travelogue! We traveled all over Europe when I was a kid, but jumping off our neighbor's dock at the lake where we have a cabin in Montana was my favorite thing ever.

Dawn said...

When I was in high school, the trip was to Cancun. Now, it wasn't "spring break" Cancun. It was the quiet Cancun before it became a college wreck. (I'm old as dinosaurs, so it's a wonder there was electricity.) The Aztec pyramids, the children hawking warm colas on the roadside, the full moon that was larger than I had ever seen...great memories. Thanks for reminding me to channel those feelings and to apply them to my back porch. It's pretty great here too.

mylittlebecky said...

i love your descriptions and that you remember it all so well. i really need to do some travel stories... i seem to be waiting until i get closer to traveling. i'm antsy in the pantsy.

mo.stoneskin said...

Your kid drinks coffee with you? How old is she? I'm impressed. My 19-month daughter doesn't yet like coffee, or olives, or anchovies, but with a bit of careful rearing I look forward to that day.

I miss Larry the goose, it was nice to hear the name of that great goose mentioned.

Philip said...

I enjoyed that a lot. I hope you get to travel again soon. Barcelona is a fantastic place. I have a very strong memory of a very 1940s cocktail bar there. Finding it at home can be even better.

Judearoo said...

This is lovely. Beautifully written. I know how you feel about horizens new and the actual charm to new places. It'll probably never die either, you'll always feel that way. I'm pretty much settled in Ireland now, and am happy here. But sometimes I miss my old gypsy life so much I could cry.

The Vegetable Assassin said...

I love Spain. It might be one of the few places in Europe I'd live if I went back. Their whole outlook to life is awesome. The siestas, the late dinners, the leisurely pace, the appreciation of things... lovely. And didn't you love Toledo? I adore that place. It's so hilly and narrow and medieval and awesome and I remember they had some GREAT CAKES! :)

Colleen said...

I'm with you on hotels- I love continental breakfast and sleeping in foreign beds that may or may not have bedbugs. It's thrilling!

You've been to Spain AND Morocco? I'm so jealous!

Sara said...

You're after my heart, aren't you? I feel the exact same way. Louisiana may not be the smartest state, but it's fucking beautiful.

steff said...

the only place i've been overseas was Italy for a class trip some 10 years ago now. your description of the places you visited in Spain desperately makes me want to plan a trip there though! i wish i remembered more about my time abroad...
here's to hoping you make it back there someday and that you keep on finding the beauty in your surroundings.

Rita said...

Aly - this was lovely! It's always better when you have that moment of discovery that life really is good, right where you are at.
Hugs to you!
Rita

hiphophippie.com said...

I want siestas!!! And contentment and happiness too of course, but right now, mostly a siesta. :)

JUST ME said...

For those of us who are poorer than poor, finding the beauty in every day life is essential.

Or else we might ourselves as a feature story for Law and Order. You know, the one about the girl who goes crazy because no matter how hard she worked, she never made enough money??

Lola Lakely said...

Nice post! I want to get away and go to Spain now. Right. Now.

How can we bring siestas to the US? Is there a petition we can sign? Or like a strongly worded letter?

Girl Interrupted said...

Aw, that was so good! There are a few bloggers who I just think are so gifted with words that I choke on my envy every time I read one of their posts, you're definitely one of them.

As for wanderlust, I have it too, always have. It's one of my biggest regrets that I've reached 30 and not travelled more. If I ever win the lottery, chances of which are looking slim since I never buy a lottery ticket, my plan is to wander to my hearts content.

I really hope you get to travel more one day, if only for the sake of further beautiful posts like this one.

The Jules said...

When I was a kid we took an amazing 3 week trip around Canada and the top bit of America in a Winnebago.

I remember my parents explaining how different the people were despite speaking something approaching English, and I was confused because I had been playing with dozens of US kids and we were all exactly the same.

Gave me a lifetime appreciation of US folk.

Except for the annoying ones.

j said...

i wish i had something as good as spain to look back on..
anywho i have no doubt that you'll be airfaring eventually, to a destination long thought out.
and i was glad to hear about your love of flying and airports... i like hearing people's different views on this.

Vanilla said...

Our Prime Minister will pick you up at the airport if you fancy coming down to New Zealand. :)

Eric said...

Are you in OK yet?

BrightenedBoy said...

"I loved it all, but perhaps the part I loved most was getting off."

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

In all seriousness, though, this was a beautiful post. It captured so well the aching for something more that so many working-class children feel, the harsh clash between means and ambition, dreams and station. It also reminded me, once more, of the really uncanny similarities between us.

"There's something to be said for my little corner of the world."

When you realize that, life becomes a lot more enjoyable.

Beth said...

You are such a fantastic, wonderful, amazing writer. I have been reading your blog for the past 40 minutes and am planning on continuing reading until I get to your very first post.

Anne said...

I don't know you but if you ever want to come to New Zealand you can stay at my place! :)